Platform Nine and Three Quarters
by mosylu
Summary: The first day she takes the Hogwarts Express, Hermione comes to a painful realization, and takes the first step toward growing up.


  


Platform Nine and Three Quarters

  
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A/N: I'm not entirely sure about the rules regarding Muggles and Platform 9 and 3/4. I've never read anything that said they weren't allowed on . . . however, I've never read anything to say they were, either. This story is dedicated to my parents, who are, let's face it, being really really great about their only daughter moving 2000 miles away.

"You sure you got that, darling?" Hermione's mother asked, eyeing the fully loaded trolley

Her dad gave a great heave to get it rolling. "I'm fine," he grunted. "Hermione, are you sure about this platform?"

"Of course I am, Dad," she said loftily. "It's right here, page 414 of _Right Under Their Noses: Wizard Secrets in the Muggle World._ 'To a casual glance and even a prolonged inspection, the barrier between platforms nine and ten at London's King's Cross station looks perfectly solid. However, due to the clever enchantment cooked up when the station was first built, wizards are able to pass through into platform nine and three-quarters at specific times by simply walking through as if the barrier were not there.' See?"

"We trust you, darling, it just sounds a little--"

"Magical," her dad said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Da-ad," Hermione groaned. He'd been making terrible puns for over a month on the subject of sorcery, enchantments, and spells. "Look, all the other authors I've read think quite highly of Felonius Waxmeister. I'm sure it's correct."

"Of course, of course," he said. 

"And there was the special letter from the school that explained it all, too," her mother added. "Although it did say we shouldn't try to get through ourselves--"

"Oh, that's probably just because it's a small platform, and they don't want it to be overcrowded," Hermione's dad said impatiently. "We're here early. We can go on through without trouble, I'm sure."

Hermione's stomach felt as if it were going to leap out of her mouth as they proceeded down the station. Platform six, platform seven, platform eight . . . "Here's platform nine, Dad!"

"So it is. Come on, my big magic girl."

"Da-ad, I'm not going to hold your _hand._" Hermione rolled her eyes. She was, after all, practically eleven years old. Was her dad absolutely crazy?

"Right, then. You want to go first?"

Hermione looked at the barrier. It looked very large, and very solid. She swallowed.

Then she thought of Felonius Waxmeister, and of Diagon Alley, so well hidden right in the middle of London. Not everything was as it seemed, and what was she going to trust, her eyes or a book?

With that decided, she closed her eyes tightly and strode forward several steps. When she didn't bash into anything, she risked a peek.

A wall of scarlet-painted metal was just a few feet from her face. She gasped and leapt backward, then realized that it was the side of an enormous steam engine, sitting on a set of tracks that no workaday commuter had ever seen.

Her mouth formed the syllable _Wow._ Just like--she had to say it--magic.

She turned and looked down the platform. Red-suited porters, leaning against the trolley, gave her desultory waves.

At the door of the first compartment, a plump and comfortable-looking witch was loading sweets onto a trolley. "Morning, dear," she said.

"Good morning," Hermione returned automatically.

The witch casually flicked her wand, and an enormous box labelled _Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans_ floated over to her as if it were a feather. She started transferring sweets to the trolley just as if the box were sitting on a table, rather than thin air.

Hermione's mouth fell open, and her heart rose like the box.

_Magic._

And not only magic, but everyday magic, used without the blink of an eye. A place where there was so much magic, it was simply part of life, like electricity.

This was her world. This was where she'd belonged her whole life. This was why she felt so awkward in the real world, because it wasn't the real world, not for her.

An enormous smile spread over her face. She spun around to see the looks on her parents' faces, and discovered that she was the only one on the platform. Her parents and the trolley were nowhere to be seen. "Wait a minute--" she said to herself.

The wall looked just as solid from the other side, but Hermione knew its secret now, and she didn't even close her eyes as she walked back through. Directly she came out the other side, she ran into someone standing right by the barrier. "Ooof! Sorry--I'm sorry--"

The man, who was dressed in the uniform of a regular Muggle conductor, looked down at her. "Where'd you come from?"

"The--the other side?"

They were standing in a knot of people, and Hermione pushed her way through, looking for her parents. This lot must have walked right up as they were trying to get through--how bothersome!

But her father was sitting on the ground, holding his head, and her mum was hovering over him, pouring water from a bottle onto her handkerchief. In her surprise and dismay, Hermione's tongue slipped. "Daddy! What happened?"

"He must have wandered a little, darling. He was following you and walked right into the barrier between platforms." Her mother's laugh was a little nervous. "Just as if he could walk straight through!"

The others standing around laughed, and some began to drift away, apparently satisfied that Hermione's dad wasn't going to keel over right there. Hermione and her mother got her dad to his feet and walked him over to a bench next to the ticket barrier.

"Dad, what happened?" she asked him in a low voice. "I turned around on the platform and you weren't there--"

"Exactly what your mum said, Hermione," he told her. "I couldn't get through."

Her mouth fell open. "You-- But it's perfectly easy! I got through just fine!"

He reached out sideways and put his hand flat on the barrier, just at the spot she'd walked through a moment before. He pushed as hard as he could. The barrier remained solid, and his hand didn't go anywhere.

"Maybe you have to close your eyes the first time?" Hermione ventured. "So your brain isn't fooled?"

He closed his eyes and swung out again. His palm slapped against solid brick.

"But--" Hermione stood up and put her own hand out. It slid through the brick next to her father's hand just as if it weren't there. "I don't understand!"

"Remember what the letter said," her mum told them both. "We shouldn't try to get through. Is this what it meant?"

"But the book would have said--" Hermione pulled the book out and opened it. "I'm sure I didn't miss anything out--"

"Footnotes, darling, remember the footnotes."

And there it was, a little mark at the end of a sentence that meant there was a footnote in the back of the book. She'd missed it before, somehow. She turned the pages, and read, _Platform 9 and 3/4 has always been particularly vulnerable to discovery because of its proximity to the Muggle world. In 1901 some Muggle children discovered the Hogwarts Express by accident and announced it to most of Platform 10. At the end of that day, nearly forty Muggles, including three train conductors, a ticket seller, and the station manager, had to have their memories modified. As a result, the enchantment was altered so that all those lacking magical ability, including Muggles and Squibs, are unable to enter the platform at any time._

Her stomach sinking like a rock through meringue, she looked up at her parents. "It says you can't go through," she said. "Because you don't have magic."

There was a funny little silence, and Hermione looked back down at the book. It wasn't fair! She wanted her parents to see her brand-new world, the scarlet steam-engine, and the lady with the sweets, floating them onto the trolley, and . . . and _everything!_

Her father gave the wall one last, helpless push and dropped his hand. "Sorry, Hermione," he said. "I guess--we just don't have what it takes, eh?"

Her mother cleared her throat. "That's all right," she said. "We'll say good-bye out here. W-will you be all right loading your own things onto the train, darling?"

For one wild moment, she thought, _If they can't come, I don't want to go either!_ She would turn around and go home with her parents, to her own room, and go to the Muggle school where--

Where she would be a freak for the rest of her life. It would be just like primary school, sitting in the dull, slow classes wanting something more. But this time knowing that there _was_ something more for her to be.

She couldn't. She absolutely couldn't. She would go mad.

She took a shaky breath. "I'll be fine, mum. I saw porters. They'll help."

"All right then."

"I'll write. All the time. Every day." If they couldn't see it with their own eyes, they would see it through hers.

"Not every day," her mother demurred. "You'll have to study, too."

"I know, Mum."

"And make friends," her father put in. "Don't forget about that. That's more important."

"Yes, Dad."

Her mother smoothed Hermione's hair back, trying to tame the bushiness in an old, futile habit. "Now take care of yourself--don't forget to get lots of rest and good food--and--and exercise--"

"And remember to floss," her dad joked feebly.

With a muffled cry, Hermione buried her face in her mother's chest. Her mother put her arms around her and held her close. Her father put his arms around both of them. Hermione closed her eyes and soaked in the sensations of the warm parental cocoon--the steady beat of her mother's heart, the warmth of her father's body. 

Then, too soon, their arms loosened, and they stepped away. Hermione gave them both a brave smile and, before they could see the tears blurring her eyes, wheeled around to face the wall between the platforms. With a heave and a grunt, she got the trolley in motion and walked through the barrier, leaving her parents behind.


End file.
